JAY'S POV
I should've known peace wouldn't last.
It never does—for people like me.
That night blurred into quiet. Keifer fell asleep sitting up, head tipped against my shoulder, breath finally even. I didn't move for hours. I just stayed there, listening to him breathe, memorizing the weight of him like my body was afraid it might forget again.
When I finally slept, it wasn't deep.
It never is anymore.
The first sign came three days later.
A black envelope slid under my condo door.
No stamp. No address. Just my name.
Jay.
Written in neat, familiar handwriting.
My blood went cold.
I didn't open it immediately. I stood there staring at it, every instinct screaming.
I bent down and picked it up.
Inside was a single card.
No threats. No insults.
Just four words.
"You left things unfinished.
So let's finish them come alone...
S.M."
And a location.
Tonight.
My hands trembled.
So this was it.
Not a warning. Not a test.
A summons.
I didn't tell Keifer.
That was the worst part.
He noticed anyway.
He always does.
"You're quiet," he said later, toweling his hair, eyes sharp despite the softness in his voice. "What happened?"
I forced a smile. "Nothing."
He studied me for a long moment.
Didn't believe me.
Didn't push.
That hurt more than if he had.
I waited until untill the next dawn.
Then I slipped out.
I hate myself for that—but some fights are inherited. Not shared.
The location was an old dockyard. Abandoned. Rusted. Smelling of salt and rot and memory. Floodlights snapped on the second I stepped inside the perimeter.
Slow clap.
"Still punctual," a voice drawled.
He stepped out of the shadows.
The Boss.
Older than I remembered. Thicker around the middle. Eyes just as sharp.
"Arch misses you," he said.
"I don't miss Arch," I replied.
He smiled. "You never did."
Men emerged behind him. Not three this time.
Ten.
I squared my shoulders. "Say what you want."
"Oh, I will," he said calmly. "You walked away owing blood. Protection. Silence."
"I paid," I snapped. "You know I did."
"You paid to leave," he corrected. "Not to forget."
My jaw tightened. "What do you want."
He tilted his head. "One last job."
No.
"I'm done."
He sighed, almost disappointed. "I was hoping you'd say yes."
That's when I felt it.
The shift.
Movement behind me.
Too late.
I spun—
Pain exploded at the base of my skull.
White. Sharp. Immediate.
My knees buckled, but I didn't fall. Instinct kicked in before the world fully tilted. I rolled forward, shoulder scraping concrete as something heavy whistled through the space where my head had been.
A baton.
I came up on one knee and drove my elbow back.
It connected with a grunt.
Another hit landed—rib, left side—hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I tasted copper.
Good.
That meant I was still conscious.
I staggered, forced myself upright, eyes adjusting to the floodlights. Ten men. Spread out. Not amateurs. Not street trash either.
Arch muscle.
The Boss watched from a distance, hands clasped behind his back like this was theater.
"Careful," he called lazily. "She's still got bite."
I wiped blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and smiled.
"Always did."
One rushed me.
Big. Slow.
I ducked under his swing, grabbed his wrist, twisted until bone screamed, then slammed my knee into his thigh. He went down howling.
Two more moved in.
I didn't wait.
I grabbed the fallen baton, swung low—cracked one knee sideways. The other caught my shoulder and sent me sprawling.
Concrete kissed my cheek.
My vision blurred.
Get up.
Get up.
Boots surrounded me.
A kick landed in my back. Then another. Then ribs. Someone laughed.
I curled, protected my head, counted beats.
One.
Two.
Three—
I exploded upward.
Batons met forearms. Pain screamed through me, but I didn't stop. I swung wild—caught a jaw, heard teeth crack. Someone went down.
Another grabbed my hair and yanked my head back.
I slammed my heel into his shin, elbowed his throat, and tore free—hair ripping, scalp burning.
Blood dripped into my eye.
I blinked it clear.
Seven left.
My body was already slowing. Bruises blooming under skin. Breath shallow. One arm numb.
Still standing.
"Enough," the Boss said mildly.
I laughed. It came out broken. "You brought ten men for one girl."
"You were never just a girl," he replied.
A baton struck my side.
Something cracked.
I screamed—and used it.
I grabbed the baton mid-swing, yanked the man forward, and headbutted him. Once. Twice. He dropped.
Six.
Someone tackled me from behind. We hit the ground hard. His weight crushed the air out of my lungs. Hands locked around my throat.
Spots danced.
I clawed blindly, found his ear, and tore.
He screamed.
I twisted, rolled, slammed his head into concrete until he went limp.
Five.
My hands were shaking now. Vision tunneling. My legs felt like they were filled with sand.
I barely saw the pipe coming.
It hit my ribs.
Then my back.
Then my legs.
I went down hard this time.
Didn't get up.
Boot pressed into my spine.
Another on my wrist.
Someone kicked my side again and again until I couldn't breathe without choking.
The Boss stepped closer.
He crouched in front of me.
Disappointed.
"You could've had everything again," he said softly. "Instead, you chose pride."
I spat blood at his shoes.
"Wrong," I rasped. "I chose freedom."
He sighed.
"Break her," he told them.
The next blows came slower.
Methodical.
Teaching.
Pain blurred into something distant, like I was watching it happen to someone else. My body stopped responding the way I told it to.
I tasted salt. Rust. Blood.
At some point, I stopped fighting.
Not because I gave up—
Because my body did.
Hands let go.
Vision went dark at the edges.
The last thing I felt was the cold concrete against my cheek…
and hands dragging me.
Then—
Nothing...
Pain is easier when you don't fight it.
I woke up where they left me—concrete biting into my cheek, cold soaked deep into bone. For a long moment, I didn't move. I waited until my breathing matched the stillness around me.
Panic wastes time.
When I finally sat up, the world tilted but didn't fall apart. That was good. I checked myself the way you check a weapon after it's been dropped.
Ribs—cracked.
Back—bruised deep enough it would bloom purple by noon.
Jaw—swollen.
Knuckles—split.
Functional.
I cleaned myself up in a public restroom two streets away. Water stung. Blood diluted pink, then clear. I fixed my hair. Adjusted my uniform. Covered what couldn't be erased.
I looked… normal.
Normal is camouflage.
Then I went to school.
---
The building looked the same.
White walls. Noise. Lockers slamming. Life moving forward like nothing had tried to end me twelve hours ago.
I walked down the corridor toward our classroom.
That's when I heard them.
Not whispers.
Low voices—tense, rushed, guilty.
"I thought the plan was over."
"This is so fucking wrong."
"Don't pretend you weren't part of it."
A pause.
Then—quieter. Worse.
"We should tell Jay."
My steps slowed.
"She'll hate us."
Another voice, cracked. "We can ask for forgiveness—"
My hand hovered near the door.
I didn't need to hear the rest.
Love doesn't make you stupid.
It makes you hopeful.
And hope had just died very quietly.
I stepped inside.
The room went still in a way that felt practiced—like silence had already been waiting for me.
All eyes turned.
Every single one.
Except one.
Keifer stood near his desk.
Not leaning. Not relaxed. Not looking at me like I was gravity.
His posture was wrong.
Too straight. Too controlled.
Like someone preparing to pull a trigger.
I closed the door behind me.
The click sounded loud.
"What plan?" I asked.
My voice was calm.
That surprised them.
Chairs shifted. Someone swallowed. Someone else looked at the floor.
No one answered.
I looked around the room slowly, memorizing faces I loved. Faces that wouldn't meet my eyes.
Then I looked at him.
"Keifer," I said. Just his name.
Every head turned toward him.
Waiting.
Urging.
For a second—just one—I thought he wouldn't do it. That he'd soften. That love would show up on his face the way it used to when he said my name like it mattered.
It didn't.
His eyes were cold.
Not angry.
Resolved.
"I used you," he said.
No hesitation. No pause.
"And the whole Section E knows about it"
I stepped back.
The words landed.
And I let them.
My breath hitched—just enough. My shoulders trembled—just once. I brought a hand up to my mouth like the sound surprised me.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Good.
"Why?" I asked, voice cracking on purpose.
I looked at him like he had shattered me. Like my spine had folded inward. Like love had won and ruined me all at once.
"Was it all fake?" I whispered. "All of it?"
Someone behind me muttered my name.
I ignored them.
I stepped closer to Keifer. Close enough that he could see the shine in my eyes. Close enough that anyone watching would swear I was unraveling.
"Tell me," I said softly. "Please. Just tell me why."
My hands shook.
Perfectly.
He didn't move.
Didn't soften.
Didn't look away.
That hurt more than the lie.
"I needed you to fall," he said flatly. "The rest was acting."
A sound broke out of me then—half laugh, half sob. I pressed my palm to my chest like my heart was misbehaving.
"So… some of it was real?" I asked desperately. "Or was I just that easy to fool?"
Silence.
Thick. Suffocating.
I nodded slowly, like I was putting pieces together that were cutting me as they slid into place.
"I see," I said.
My voice dropped. Steadier now—but still fragile enough to sell it.
"I just wanted to believe," I added. "That's all."
I turned toward the door.
Paused.
Let them see my back shake once more.
Then I left.
The hallway blurred as I ran.
I made it to the parking lot before the first real breath tore out of me. I unlocked my car with shaking fingers, got inside, slammed the door—and then—
Gone.
The tears stopped instantly.
My face went still.
I drove.
Fast.
City lights smeared into lines. Traffic laws became suggestions. My ribs screamed every time I turned the wheel, but pain was background noise now.
I didn't head home.
I never do when I'm finished pretending.
The mansion sat where it always had—secluded, old money quiet, wrapped in trees that knew how to keep secrets. The gate opened automatically.The one I had build just for safety... My Safety....
I parked.
Walked inside.
No lights.
I dropped my bag by the door and sank into the couch, letting the silence press in. The kind of silence you can only hear when no one's watching you break.
I leaned my head back.
Closed my eyes.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then—
I smiled.
Slow.
Sharp.
Satisfied.
They thought they'd broken me.
They thought the tears were real.
They thought love had made me weak.
I laughed softly, the sound low and dangerous in the empty room.
"Oh," I murmured to no one at all, "this is where it gets fun."
Because here's the thing about people who grow up surviving—
They don't fall apart when you hurt them.
They learn.
And I had just learned everything I needed.
The devil doesn't cry when the mask comes off.
She smirks.
And plans....
KEIFER'S POV
The first thing I noticed was the bruises.
Not her face—Jay always held her head high—but the way her sleeve slipped when she pushed the door open. Purple blooming along her wrist. Yellowed edges on her knuckles. The faint stiffness in her walk, like every step hurt more than she was letting on.
My chest locked.
No.
Not now.
Not after everything.
The plan was already in motion. It had to be.
London had made that clear.
The elders hadn't yelled. They didn't need to. Their disappointment was quieter—deadlier. My cousin Clyde had smiled the entire time, like this was entertainment.
"You're distracted," one of them said.
"You're compromised," another added.
"Love makes men careless," Clyde finished.
Then the real threat.
"We know there's a girl."
Not a name.
Not yet.
But enough.
Enough to trace.
Enough to ruin her.
I'd walked out of that room knowing one thing—
If Jay stayed close to me, she wouldn't survive the fallout.
So I made the only choice I had.
I became the villain.
When she stepped inside the classroom, everything in me screamed to stop.
The room was already tight with guilt. Voices cut off mid-sentence. Eyes snapped toward the door.
Toward her.
She looked… wrong.
Too composed for someone that hurt.
Her gaze swept the room once—sharp, fast—then landed on me.
And for a heartbeat, I almost broke.
But fear is louder than love when it's sharpened by bloodlines and inheritance and men who don't forgive.
"What plan?" she asked.
Calm. Steady.
That hurt worse than anger would have.
Everyone looked at me.
Waiting.
Pushing.
I stood straighter. Locked everything down. If I hesitated, they'd hear the truth in it.
"I used you," I said.
The words gutted me.
"And the whole Section E knows about it."
I didn't look at her at first.
I couldn't.
When I did, it was too late.
Her face crumpled.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just… collapsed.
And God—
I hadn't planned for that.
"Why?" she asked, voice breaking.
I wanted to tell her everything. About London. About Clyde. About the elders who would tear her apart just to remind me who I belonged to.
Instead, I said nothing.
Silence can be crueler than lies.
"Was any of it real?" she whispered.
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.
If I said yes, they'd come for her.
If I said no, I'd destroy her.
So I let her believe the worst.
She nodded like she'd been expecting this. Like hope had already been bleeding out long before she walked in.
"I just wanted to believe," she said softly.
Then she ran.
Actually ran.
The door slammed.
Chairs scraped. Voices shouted her name. Someone chased after her.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
The moment she disappeared, everything I'd been holding back hit me at once.
My vision blurred.
I dropped into the chair like my legs had finally given up permission to stop pretending.
My hands shook.
I hated this.
I hated the elders.
I hated Clyde.
I hated myself most of all.
Because protecting her meant becoming the one thing she'd never forgive.
My breath broke—once, then again.
I bowed my head and let it happen.
Real tears.
Not the clean kind. The ugly ones. The kind that burned and choked and left you gasping.
Mark Keifer Watson didn't cry.
But today—
I did.
Because the girl I loved walked out believing she was nothing more than a strategy.
And I let her.
Because I had no other way to keep her alive.